


Stand Against Her Demons

by FenVallas



Series: Revasel Lavellan [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Solas POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3976582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenVallas/pseuds/FenVallas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas discovers the alternate future at Redcliffe has affected her more than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand Against Her Demons

Things were not usually this dark or tumultuous here in the Fade, rather, they were sickeningly bright. A haze of green and white would dance around the edge of your vision, even when you were in familiar places, such as Haven, or unfamiliar places, like the halls of Redcliffe castle.

But the haze around the edge of his vision was not bright, not here, curling like an oppressive, black fog, and that was why Solas knew he was within a nightmare.

To have drawn him here, he thought as he passed through the dilapidated hallways, the emotions in play must have been quite powerful. Spirits would be about, searching for the source of those emotions, and if this strange Redcliffe was any indication at all it would not be a good outcome if the owner of this dream was caught unawares.

The Spirits about paid him little attention as he passed, searching for the source of the dream to attempt to drive them from their own thoughts. The owner of this strange, derelict alternate Redcliffe had to be either Lavellan or Dorian Pavus, and if either of them remained unaware for too long…

Still, the dreamscape itself was fascinating, giving him half an idea of what Lavellan had experienced in the strange alternate future. Red Lyrium clung to the walls like a growth and the place reeked of decay and death, the sort of decay and death that reminded him keenly of his trips to the Void. This, thought Solas, was akin to the domain of Anaris, this madness and pestilence, this decadence exactly the sort he recalled from his days visiting the Others.

His keen ears caught the sound of a woman sobbing and he quickly slipped by a nearby congregation of spirits effortlessly to find the source of the nightmare curled in on herself. In her lap she cradled a head, and he did not have to see the face to know who she clung to so desperately and cried her tears for.

“Solas,” she choked. “Solas, please wake up, come back. I’ve lost Dorian, I don’t know where I am, please.” Lavellan pleaded with his corpse, shaking him. “Please, you have to wake up, you have to wake up.”

For a moment he simply stared upon the wretched scene, his heart doing strange things within his chest. Seeing her so abject, so miserable, and over him no less was… As distressing as he found it, he was ashamed to admit that a part of him also found it touching.

For her to show that sort of care for him…

No.

Shouldering past the last few spirits congregated, Solas reached out to Lavellan. She would not remember this when she woke, not completely, and so he felt no guilt in interfering or in attempting to change the course of her dream.

“Lavellan, look at me,” he commanded, and her tearful eyes were drawn to him, shock and confusion flickering across her face.

A relieved sob pushed its way from her lungs and her tears seemed to flow anew as she cast her arms about his neck and pulled him close. In her lap, the other Solas dissolved into particles of memory as if he had never existed at all, and Lavellan’s fingers weaved into his tunic, tugging him close.

“Solas,” her voice was weak with relief. “Solas... You’re alive. I knew… I knew that you had to be okay. I knew that something like this couldn’t kill you.”

For a moment, he was frozen in place, the weight of her warm against his chest and shoulders. It was strange that this was the closest anyone had been to him in a very long time and that it had happened here, in the Fade, where his perception could change things, where perhaps… Swallowing, he focused past the feeling of physical contact on his task of helping the woman clinging to him desperately, and gingerly wrapped his arms about her shoulders.

“You are safe, Lavellan,” Solas said, and concentrated on the world about them, the world of her dream, forcing it to shift and shimmer in and out of focus in an attempt to move her somewhere different. “Look at my face.”

She did, her green eyes still wide and staring, desperation etched into her features. Gently, Solas carded his fingers through her short, dark hair and offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, “Do you see?”

“The Lyrium is gone,” Lavellan muttered, the pulse of her terror fading, making it possible for him to change the scenery.

Up reached her hands, grasping his face, tracing his features, and he felt his ears turn red, caught off-guard once more by the way that she moved and how her features caught and held even the artificial light of the Fade. He told himself once more to stop noticing the range of her expressions, the way that she smiled at him, paid him compliments that shone genuine on her animated face. He told himself that it was foolish to think of her as anything more than worthy of his respect.

And yet he couldn’t deny his growing affection for her, that somewhere during their journeys together, fascination had turned into respect had turned into the first stirrings of genuine warmth.

“You’re cured,” she breathed out an awed breath, her hands not falling to her sides, still exploring, ghosting over his lips as if she were afraid he would vanish.

She was uninhibited, he reminded himself. This was the Fade and her sudden strange actions meant nothing.

But there was such aching, profound ** _tenderness_** …

“ _Atisha_ ,” he murmured, still carding his fingers through her hair even as he drew her to her feet. “Look around, Lavellan. You are free of that horrible place.”

She released him, staring out upon the distant snowy caps of the Frostbacks, snow falling about them from a vast, white sky. It was muffled, beautiful, peaceful, and the air did not feel oppressed with sorrow and decay. He watched her for a measure, walking a few paces away from him to brush her hand along the trunk of a tree, confusion creasing her features.

“This is a dream…” she half-muttered, turning to look at him. “Are you a spirit? One who has taken the shape of Solas to… help me? He said some spirits liked to help, so perhaps… are you one of his friends?”

Her cleverness brought a smile to his lips and he walked to her side, leaving no indent in the snow even in this dream, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You could hardly be left alone to suffer,” he responded thoughtfully, choosing not to answer her questions.

Let her believe as she would.

“I have this dream all of the time now,” she said, looking away from him, “but this is the first time anyone has bothered to come to me. I guess I should… I should thank you.”

“There is no need,” he said before the silence of the Fade shattered for banging from the world of Waking.

Solas gasped and shuddered, the lethargy of his trance clinging to him like a heavy shroud, making his limbs ungainly and awkward as he stood and stumbled toward his door, wrenching it open, an expression of annoyance etched across his features.

“What?”

It was the Seeker, her dark eyes boring into him with intensity, eyebrows arched at his tone. “Did I wake you, Solas? I apologize, I didn’t—“

Rubbing his temples, Solas shook his head. “No, Seeker, I apologize for my tone. You are not interrupting anything.” He leaned against the door frame and looked out at the Chantry steeple for a moment before turning his eyes back to her. “Do you require something?”

“Er, yes,” Cassandra nodded and shifted from one foot to the other. “I would like your advice on how to deal with the mages. I… I know you were an advocate for their freedom, that when the Herald was asking for advice, you told her she should give them an equal footing within the Inquisition. I will admit I am unsure how to go about this alliance.”

“Well, have you met with their leader?” Solas asked, picturing the Elven woman in his mind. “Perhaps discuss with her what her people require to function?”

“Yes, we have. Josephine is working on securing Lyrium trade lines directly with the Carta. She feels it would be best to… To forgo all Chantry channels. Val Royeaux is not pleased,” the Seeker’s face was lined heavily with displeasure. “We have already received one strongly worded letter. They can hardly believe that we would ally with the rebels.”

“Perhaps that is not such a bad thing,” Solas said. “I know that you are among the faithful, Seeker, but the Chantry is responsible for the tensions that created the war between the Templars and Mages in the first place. If they had taken action against Knight-Commander Meredith…”

“I am aware.” The woman looked weary, heaving a heavy sigh and shifting her weight to her other foot once again. “I am not sure what to believe any longer, but I know that I must believe in the Inquisition. Please, Solas, if you can think of anything that mages would require besides Lyrium…”

“My suggestion, Seeker, is to have the Herald request the Commander remove his Templar guards from around the perimeter of their base camp. I understand your concern over abominations, truly,” he held up a hand before she could interrupt. “The training the Chantry has provided the mages is inadequate in understanding the full range of spirits, which may make them dangerous, but it would be best if they did not feel constantly accosted. If they do, they will feel they have left one Circle to join another.”

“That is a valid point,” Cassandra pursed her lips, and he suspected that the admission stung, “and I wonder why you have not brought it up to the Herald yourself before now. You two are… close.”

“The Herald has been avoiding me after the events of Redcliffe,” his words were matter of fact, but difficult for him to say regardless.

He did not want her to avoid him.

He… missed her questions; the late nights spent discussing spirits and the Fade, watching her read over his notes and mock the scrawl of his handwriting. She always had something to say, always showed genuine interest in his opinions, and even if she disagreed she had reasons. He appreciated her intensity, her expressiveness when surprised or gratified, even if she kept to herself in large groups, something he could not begrudge her for without lapsing into hypocrisy.

She was his… friend.

An unintentional friend, but a friend nonetheless.

“Perhaps… You can change that. Approach her,” Cassandra’s dark eyes searched his face. “She has developed a drinking problem, Solas. There is not a night she is not in the tavern, usually with the Tevinter mage. I thought, perhaps…”

“I will see about speaking to her, Cassandra,” Solas said, wondering if perhaps this had been the woman’s intent in coming to see him all along.

Her relieved smile was perhaps his best evidence of an answer.

“Thank you, Solas. I will take your advice under consideration.”

“It has been a pleasure, as always, Seeker,” and Solas was surprised to realize how much he meant it.

 

* * *

 

As it was, it was several days before he had occasion to approach the Herald.

Part of it was preparedness.

He spent his days about Haven walking, half-anticipating an attack from the Elder One at any moment, observing in silence the movements of the mages within the camp, which included the Herald herself. The tension in the camp was high, especially because so many disliked or outright feared mages and magic or were unused to not being in a position of power over them. The mages, still paranoid they would be caged at any moment, snarled and snapped at those who showed even the slightest signs of distrust.

As for the Herald…

Solas had known about the drinking, often done alongside the Tevinter Altus, who twirled his mustache and complained about the taste of southern alcohol. He had seen her, sullen, lean against the man’s side for comfort from the nightmares that he progressively found himself drawn to the edges of or into more often than not.

And if he was not drawn into her nightmares, well, he found himself in the company of the Tevinter, instead.

So he made a point of being prepared, of memorizing her footsteps to and from the tavern, the dour shadow to the bright and demonstrative _shemlen_. Her people looked upon her with concern but gave her a wide berth, likely feeling it wasn’t their place to chastise a demi-god.

Solas had no qualms about approaching her, but hesitated regardless, unsure what to say, how to make her see reason.

Approaching her in the Fade was one thing, where things were easier for him and he could bend reality to his very well, but in this reality…

He was nothing more than an unassuming Elven apostate. What advice could he offer her? Especially when she seemed to distance herself so from the other Elves in the bustling camp? Asking his advice or for samples of his knowledge was one thing… Relying upon him as a friend?

That was another.

Still, he approached her, intercepting her on her way to the tavern while she was still sober and capable of listening.

“Solas,” she sounded surprised as he pulled her off to the side, huddling against Haven’s walls in the shade of a path of firs. “I didn’t… I didn’t expect to see you here this time of day.”

He tried to search her face with his eyes, but found she wouldn’t meet his gaze and remembered her anguished sobs in the Fade. Here she was so composed, not a victim to her emotions as she was there, but the image must haunt her still, and it suddenly occurred to him that it may be **_his_** death in this alternate world that weighed upon her.

“I was searching for you,” Solas said. “I wanted to discuss with you what is to be done with the mages, but I…” He pushed through his trepidation, telling himself that helping her was for the wellbeing of the Inquisition, that the Inquisition was essential to defeating Corypheus, which was essential to fulfilling his mission.

He **_needed_** her.

“I am concerned, Lavellan.”

It was true. He was concerned. Her life was falling apart around her and she did not appear to see or to notice the ways in which what had happened had affected her. Lavellan was a withdrawn person, a person who spoke her mind but rarely shared her emotions freely, and she was withdrawing further still.

Solas knew from personal experience that the road she was walking was a dangerous one.

“Concerned? You’re… worried about me?” She didn’t look angry, as he had suspected, but rather confused, shocked… touched, almost, as if the thought that someone could be worried about her hadn’t occurred to her. “It’s because of the… the drinking, isn’t it?”

“Among other things,” he said, but didn’t elaborate; he suspected she still did not know he had peered into her dreams and would prefer to keep it that way.

“I… I’m sorry,” she forced the words for her lips, genuine remorse warping her features. “I have no desire to worry anyone, but I just… If I knock myself out, I don’t dream as often, and I keep thinking about…”

She finally met his eyes, and he fought the desire to reach out and hold her, to demonstrate to her some affection that would prove she was not alone. Instead, he met her gaze without fear, attempting to show her with his eyes that whatever she had to say, he would not run from it, would accept it for what it was.

“You died for me, Solas. I saw them throw your corpse around like it was… a sack of flour or… You looked so…” she moved her hands up through her hair and broke eye contact, leaning her had back to stare at the churning white sky. “You told me it didn’t matter if you were dying, that if I could negate what had happened, none of what you had suffered there would matter. But it does matter. It matters to me, Solas. Cassandra… Founded the Inquisition, and so did Leliana. It made sense that they would die for it, for me, because they’re soldiers, but you…”

Her voice cracked and suddenly she was crying, her face turned away from him, tears silently streaming down her cheeks, lips curled back into something that was either a grimace or a snarl. “I should have been able to save you, Solas. I don’t understand why you would just throw your life away like that, why it wouldn’t matter to you at all.”

He knew why he would, of course. That future had been doomed, so why would he put his hope in its continued existence? This world, this future, was the one that mattered, not the twisted Redcliffe.

“Lavellan,” Solas said, but she did not acknowledge him, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Revasel.”

The use of her given name was enough to draw her eyes to him, her jaw trembling as she attempted to fight back the flow of her tears. Admirable, perhaps, to want to maintain face where anyone could look over and see them, but whether or not it was admirable, she was still hurting, and he…

He wanted only to help her grieve.

“Pretending that I am still dead will not help you,” he said, voice as gentle as he could manage. “Nor will burying yourself in the bottle. I have made similar mistakes before. It does not help. Seek comfort elsewhere, Revasel, or find strength within yourself.”

He placed a hand upon her shoulder, their eyes meeting again for half an instant before she surged forward and wrapped her arms around him. The hug in the Fade came back to him, and there was no hesitance this time as he returned her embrace, his throat quite suddenly tight with an unknown emotion.

At the very least, it was not an emotion he would admit to.

“I’m going to go deal with all the things I’ve been neglecting,” she said against his chest, not releasing him. “Maybe… Tonight… You can tell me about some of the ruins you’ve been to? Last time we talked, I remember you telling me about the Brecillian?”

Solas pulled away, but his hands still held onto her shoulders, suspecting that the nightmares would not be gone for some time but that she would deal with them much better form now on. Perhaps those tired circles beneath her eyes would even begin to recede with time.

“I would be glad to discuss the ruins of the Brecillina with you. The Veil is thin there and the Fade is full of the memories of our people.” He scarcely realized he had acknowledged her as one of his own until she smiled, tired but genuine, and pulled away.

“I look forward to it,” she said without further mention of what had passed between them.

He watched her retreat, this time toward the Chantry, a new resolve in her footsteps.

That night when he entered the Fade, he found Revasel fighting back against her demons.


End file.
